


On A Clear Day

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [68]
Category: Foyle's War, Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 06:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: There’s something about Harold he almost doesn’t like.





	On A Clear Day

Geordie sits on the bench Harold had pointed out to him and waits, hands clenched on his knees, staring out at the sea. There’s a stretch of beach below, but it’s largely deserted, being too rocky for sunbathers and small children. A few older children are clambering over the bigger rocks near the water, yelling as they find tidal pools and colorful rocks. 

He’s not sure if the tingling feeling in his stomach is anticipation or anxiety. There’s something about Harold he almost doesn’t like -- as though there’s a faintly unpleasant smell that the man brings into a room with him. But balancing that out is the appeal of what he does and what he says and Geordie hasn’t decided which is the stronger pull yet.

‘Good afternoon.’ 

‘Hello--’ The words die on his lips as he looks up and sees not Harold but an older, stockier man with a paper cup in one hand.

‘May I?’ Before Geordie can answer, the man seats himself. ‘You’re visiting with Mrs Brennan, aren’t you? Down by the docks?’

‘Yes.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Geordie can see Harold just coming around the corner of the street. 

‘Mm.’ The man takes a sip from the cup and asks, ‘You’re a relation of hers, I take it?’

‘Nephew.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He nods. ‘Mrs Brennan is an old acquaintance of mine.’

‘Is she?’ Geordie is honestly bewildered now. He has no idea who this man is except that he carries himself like someone in charge of something and Geordie can see Harold stopped half-way down the pavement as if caught in a sudden game of Statues. 

‘She is.’ The man takes another sip. He must not think much of it because he looks at the cup with a kind of resigned disgust and gets up to drop it in the rubbish bin at the near edge of beach. He comes back to the bench and stands for a minute, looking down the street.

Geordie follows his gaze and sees Harold, red in the face, cross to the other pavement and walk along quickly and without stopping, gaze trained firmly on the knick-knack’y shopfront windows. He’s not sure if he feels more disappointed in Harold or more aggrieved against this stranger who has suddenly made a muck of his afternoon.

‘Please give your aunt my regards -- Christopher Foyle.’ The man holds out a hand and, on pure reflex, Geordie stands and shakes it. The man’s grip is firm and warm and he studies Geordie for a moment. ‘May I suggest...’ He pauses, still holding Geordie’s hand, then goes on: ‘If there’s anything you need. While you’re here.’

Geordie has no idea what’s happening but the man -- Foyle -- has paused for so long now that Geordie isn’t sure if the conversation is over. ‘Yes?’ 

‘You can find me at the police station. Should you need to.’ Foyle gives his hand a last firm squeeze, then turns away and is striding down the street before Geordie can say anything. He rapidly overtakes Harold who had reached the end of the street but is lingering, pretending to examine a stand of straw hats, clearly unable to make up his mind what to do. 

It’s too far away and the sound of the sea and the gulls and the children far too loud for Geordie to have any hope of making out what they’re saying. He sees Harold glance back at him and shake his head, making some deprecating gesture. Foyle glances back, too, and gives Harold a look that has him backing away half a step. 

Whatever the conversation is, Foyle evidently has the last word and leaves on it, disappearing around the turning while Harold is still obviously trying to speak. Harold casts one glance back at Geordie, then turns and almost runs down the street, vanishing around another turning before Geordie can do anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory for [_Not Such Need to Hide_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266046).


End file.
